


To The Victor

by kay_obsessive



Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Cunnilingus, F/M, Femdom, Pre-Canon, Public Sex, Sparring, Teasing, Woman on Top
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-10
Updated: 2020-11-10
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:22:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27181739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kay_obsessive/pseuds/kay_obsessive
Summary: “I sometimes wonder if you choose to lose to me on purpose.”
Relationships: Loki/Sif (Marvel)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 34
Collections: Femdom Exchange 2020





	To The Victor

**Author's Note:**

  * For [firecat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/firecat/gifts).



His back hits the ground, and her boot lands on his wrist, sending his last dagger clattering away, and then Sif’s sword is at Loki’s throat once again. “Yield,” she commands.

He does, holding up his other hand, palm open and empty, and nodding his surrender. 

With a nod of her own, she frees his wrist and gives him just enough space to rise up onto his knees, but her blade tracks each movement steady beneath his chin. It’s been held there many times before throughout their decades and centuries, in both playful, teasing triumph and genuine anger, and it is likely to find its way there many times again. Today, at least, she is smiling, pleased at her victory and his defeat, pleased at the prize she has won, soon to be awarded.

The crowd around them, which had cheered every strike that brought him down, quiets now in anticipation of what they know to follow.

“I sometimes wonder if you choose to lose to me on purpose,” Sif says, low enough to be for Loki alone, while her free hand works at her waist to loosen the ties and buckles of her armor. “All of your trickery is permitted in this arena, yet you use so little of it here.”

When they were younger, when he was even more stubborn and spiteful and could not accept or understand how his brother and their playmates all seemed to be so much stronger than he was, he never would have. He would have bristled and glared at even the suggestion of deliberately forfeiting, of giving anything less than his full effort in proving his worth. But now he knows better where his own talents truly lie, and he knows also that Sif would be able to counter much of his ‘trickery’ as easily as his blades, for as long as they have spent grappling with each other over various slights and offenses over the years.

The rest of his tricks, the ones she and the onlookers do not yet know, he prefers to keep to himself for now.

He lets his chin rest on the flat of her blade, and its tip bites into his skin as she adjusts her grip against the change in weight. “You would accuse me of dishonesty, Lady Sif?” he asks, all innocence, meeting her smile with his own.

She rolls her eyes and tosses her blade aside, looses the last buckle at her hip to let the piece of armor there slip to ground and takes up a fistful of his hair to push his head down between her legs. “Put your wicked tongue to better use, serpent,” she demands.

Distantly, he can hear their audience roar back to life, the cheering and jeering muffled to his ears by the press of Sif’s thighs. He grins briefly against her, then sets to work obeying her command.

Ever the warrior, her blood is already running hot from the thrill of a fight, the glory of a fine victory witnessed before her people, and each stroke of his tongue, every subtle movement of his lips, draws a shudder from her that Loki can feel resonate through his entire body. She is soon so wet that his chin near drips with it when she suddenly tightens her grip on his hair and yanks him back, baring his throat to her.

She looks him over for a moment, face prettily flushed and panting lightly, though her painful hold on him is calm and steady. Whatever picture he makes before her now – and he can only imagine – she seems to find it pleasing, as her hand at the back of his head gentles, a strong suggestion that he keep his place rather than a forceful command. She shakes her head and smiles with some fondness, reaching out with her other hand to swipe across the bottom half of his face, wiping it roughly clean. Then her slick fingers push into his mouth, and he closes his eyes as he eagerly sucks the taste of her from them.

“Enough of that,” she says when he finishes, and her voice raises a little, playing to the crowd once more. “I’ve won the use of more than your mouth tonight.”

She pushes at his shoulders then, and he moves, half stumbling, not quite able to make as smooth a transition from kneeling to lying on his back, keeping his eyes held on Sif towering above, as he would like.

Sif does not take the same care with Loki’s armor as she did her own. She picks up one of his daggers, lost to the rough ground of the arena early in their fight, and lowers herself over top of him, cuts where she needs and pushes the rest out of the way until his cock is exposed to her.

He sucks in a breath at the sudden sting of cool air, then hisses it out as her hand closes around him, strokes him a few times as though into readiness. It’s unnecessary – he has been hard enough to take her since her blade first touched his throat, and he is sure she noticed that easily enough. 

When she settles herself with her knees at either side of his hips, her hand braced over his heart, pushing against the heavy rise and fall of his chest, and finally sinks down onto him, his head snaps back with a groan. He only barely winces when it strikes the hard ground, other sensations rapidly becoming far more pressing than any pain as Sif finds her pace and sets him to it.

Matching her movement draws his focus almost entirely, away from that uneven, rocky ground digging into his back, scraping up his fingertips where he clenches his hands compulsively. For a moment he even forgets the game and reaches out, desperate to touch her, but Sif catches him at the wrists easily, pins them beside his head as she leans in with a smirk, drawing a rumbling of breathless laughter from the onlookers that drags him back. He makes a token attempt to break her grip, for the show of it if nothing else, but even if he truly wished to free himself, she has always outmatched him in sheer strength. So he surrenders again to her power, to her riding him like a favored steed into the end of this battle.

And Sif approaching the peak of her pleasure is as glorious as in any victory, her head thrown back to face the sun – or the glaring arena lights here – her lips parted and curved in a satisfied smile, her body tensing and tightening above and around him as the harsh cry slips from her throat.

Then, all at once, she is gone, releasing his wrists and rising high on her knees to swing a leg back over his hips and leave him there untouched. He lets out a disbelieving, despairing noise before he can think to smother it, reaches up mindlessly with seeking fingers as though she had vanished into nothing like a ghost instead of merely rolling to one side. 

She laughs at him, head tossed back again in delight, and draws herself closer once more. “Poor Loki,” she murmurs. “Do you think I would be so cruel in triumph?” She puts her hand on his knee and drags it up along his inner thigh teasingly, agonizingly slow.

“Cruel enough, clearly,” he manages, strained, and then coherent speech is lost to him completely as her fingers finally curl around his cock again.

It takes little at this point, a few rough strokes of her hand before he is arching his back off the ground and choking back the cry rising from low in his throat. He can hear the rumbling approval of the crowd, far away, almost from another world, and above it all, high and clear, Sif’s laughter once more.

When he opens his eyes again, she is smiling at him, that subtle look of fondness back in her gaze. She wipes her hand off on his chest and then rests it there as she leans over him. Her long hair, now slipping out of the severe tie she put it in for the fight, falls over her shoulder in a sheet and half curtains them from the onlookers. “Give me a better fight next time,” she says, quiet, something meant only for him again. “It makes the victory all the sweeter.”

Loki smiles. “As the lady commands.”


End file.
